Callin' you from a thousand miles away
by arabellagaleotti
Summary: Somewhere, a billion miles away, flies a man though space. He has a life-time of hate, of love, of sorrow and damn if he aint gonna use it. OR, Tony Stark sends more than a message to Pepper, and not all of them are nice.
1. Peter

Hey, kid.

I know you won't see this….but I'm gonna say some stuff anyway, relive my guilty conscience like the asshole I am.

You're dead.

And I feel bad.

People might wonder why I say that so...harshly, rip of the bandage and use the 'd' word.

I learnt, when my parents died, that nobody is gonna say it, so you should. The first few months after — hell, even now — they don't say 'I'm sorry they died', or 'their deaths must be hard' they say, 'I'm sorry for your loss', or 'condolences.'

So I learnt you should pull it out every opportunity, shock them. The last thing they expect is for the grief-stricken son to say it. So I do.

Enough about me — see what I mean? Asshole. — I'll talk about you, I guess.

You're just a kid. Not like Wanda's a kid, not an adult hiding behind PTSD and innocence, but an actual fucking kid. Excuse my language, although you don't care, 'cause you're dead.

And it's my fault.

I shouldn't have brought you here. I killed you.

Nebula — that's the blue alien lady — she told me about the snap, about the stones.

I don't know how it works, I never will, but if it's geographically? I killed you. If it's not...well, that doesn't help it either.

God, this is like pushing a thumb into a bruise.

You remind me of...well, me. I was smart, too. You're lucky, though. My parents pushed me through school, eager to have the prodigal son for the papers.

You get to grow up and go on field trips and….be a kid. I didn't, and I'm really happy that you do.

In time, like a normal, well-adjusted person, you would have graduated, and going into work — hopefully SI, although that won't happen now. You would have changed the world, Peter. I know it.

Huh.

I don't think i've called you by your name before.

It's always spiderling, or kid, or underoos. I'll call you Peter, now.

You deserve it.

At the start, I both loved and hated your hero worship.

I hated it, because Peter, if you knew the things I've done, you would not look up at me and call me 'Mr. Stark'. I love it, because sure, you liked Iron-Man, but you liked Tony Stark as well. And not many people do.

In the eyes of the public I'm still the merchant of war, playboy, filthy-rich Tony Stark.

Well, I used to be.

I won't be tomorrow morning.

Was that a joke?

God, you can count on me for jests in near-death situations.

You could count on you, too. Do you know how many complaints I've gotten over you talking during fights? Too many, Peter. But I love it. It's more than just a cheap trick and a cheesy one-liner, it's you. Not boasting or bragging, just you, being Peter, chattering away.

I think you would have liked this. Being in space. It's wonderful, really. I feel like I should appreciate it more. I will, for you. Do you know how many of those dumb, punny T-shirts you could make?

Tony Star

Space-man?

That one's a bit weak, i'll admit

God, the limits are endless.

I'm too tired to bother.

I'm sure you would. I can imagine it, us sitting here, you chattering away.

The keyword here is imagine.

This is me, Peter. Saying goodbye, even if you won't hear it.


	2. Yinsen

Yinsen.

I guess your plan worked. I escaped. I lived. You didn't.

It worked for a good ten years.

I guess my time just ran out.

Sometimes I think it ran out the second obie put out the hit on me.

You just gave me an extension. You know those games? Where you play an ad, but get 20 coins or whatever? The arc reactor was that ad. You were that ad.

I guess the ad always goes away, huh?

Sometimes I'm angry at you.

I mean, you cut inside my chest.

You died. You let yourself die, Yinsen.

Who was left to carry that guilt?

Me.

So yeah, sometimes I'm angry. Sometimes I'm thankful. Sometimes I'm just sad.

Mostly though, I'm sorry.

You told me not to waste my life.

I hope I did what you wanted.

I'm not sure that the diameters are, but I hope I succeeded.

I became Iron-Man,

I pioneered SI further,

I saved the world a couple times,

I loved.

That good enough?

I wish I met you in Bern. I wish I did a lot of things different that night. I wish I met your family, too. They must have been nice.

Remember when you asked me, if I had any family?

The man with nothing, yet everything.

I never had everything, Yinsen. Not after, not before.

I've always been flawed goods, and nobody wants to be family with flawed goods.

It's my DNA. I push people away. I can't help it.

But then again, I didn't push you away, did I?

I hope not.

I don't think so.

You did more for me than even Rhodey.

Thank you, Yinsen.

I'm excited to meet your family.


	3. Happy

Happy

Hi, Hap.

Remember how we met?

You saved me from getting mugged.

I don't know if I ever thanked you for that, truly.

It was some shady New York corner, I don't even know what I was doing there, and I guess someone recognized me.

I got jumped, pulled into an alley, threatened with a gun.

The bastard nearly took my wallet until you burst out of the woodwork and beat him to bits.

I laughed and called you some stupid name, compared you some stupid children's cartoon I don't remember watching.

You introduced yourself, made some remark back, and started to go on your merry way.

I caught up to you down the street and offered you the job.

You took it, and you have saved me so many times since then, not all from muggers, not all from super-villains. You've saved me from myself, a friend (that I pay, but still) that never leaves me, even when Rhodey's deployed ad Pepper's away and I'm alone.

You've been there since the start, and I can't help but thank you for that. Not many people have been, I think it's just you and Rhodey at this point.

You made it into a hall of fame, finally. So what if it's not WWE?

You'll always be the best in my heart, Hap.

Hey, we'll have another round again sometime, huh? Just you and me, old-school. Fifty on me, forehead of security.


	4. Steve

Steve, you know what?

Fuck you.

Fuck you for all of it,

Leaving me in Siberia, that the obvious one, and fuck you for that,

But fuck you for taking my team and ripping it in half,

For refusing to listen to me, even when told, asked you, begged you to listen.

Fuck you for running away.

Fuck you for making me bring peter in, because that kid should not be dead right now, and i'm allowed to blame someone.

Fuck you for destroying that airport.

Fuck you for going on the run.

Fuck you for leaving me to deal with your mess.

fuck you for not trusting me.

Most importantly, fuck me for trusting you.

Do you know how much my father went on about you?

All of my childhood, every happy memory I have with my father, it was about you. Him telling me about you, or giving me a little action figure for Christmas one year.

Yeah, that right, Tony Stark had a Captain America action figure.

You talk about what a monster I am, but you made me that way. They say childhood trauma can affect adult life; well, we ripped apart my family like you did my team. You tore them in two and then acted surprised when i turned into...me. Dad spent every other second thinking about you, he left for months at a time, scouring the icy wastelands where you slept. Mama cried herself to sleep every night. I know because I would sleep outside her door and leave in the morning before she got up.

You made me, Rogers. Don't forget that when you're damming me to hell.

I'll see you there.


	5. Mama

Chapter Text

Ciao, mama.

Do you remember those days, the ones where I would find you on the piano, and we would play?

Even if you don't, I do.

It was one of those old pianos, the ones with ivory keys and wood from a thousand-year-old oak, or something.

You used to tell me these elaborate stories about it. How it had gotten to you, where it was made. I'm pretty sure it was fake. In fact, I'm almost 100%, since I doubt the same piano that Da Vinci owned made it onto the Titanic , survived, was played by the queenand was given to you by your grandfather.

Only the last bit is true, I'd bet. But still...I loved them. They were my bible, those days, when you would teach me to play and tell me how to smile so the press don't see underneath, so no one sees underneath. I'd pray every-night, when I went to sleep, I'd hum the psalms; those songs you taught me.

Funny, I've never considered myself religious, but I guess I might have been.

I'm sorry, for what really happened the last time I saw you. Without B.A.R.F., without all of the scenarios I've dreamt up over the years, the truth is a still-drunk son angry and reckless and alone.

I swore at father, I didn't kiss you goodbye, I was stupid.

I was stupid a lot back then, for a genius. I'm stupid a lot now.

Still, I can dream of it going the way those hallowed afternoons did, slow, sweet and with you next to me, but it's only a dream.

When I drift off, I'll dream of you.

I think you would have liked Pepper.

She...grounds me.

We've had some ups and downs, like you and Howard (to say the least). But I love her, mama.

I dreamt I had a kid, you know.

If I had a kid, I'd tell it to be proud.

I'd tell it to bare its teeth in a snarl disguised as a smile.

I'd teach it all your tricks that you taught me.

I'd teach it Italian, and the piano, and how to sing.

We'd go on holiday and visit all the places you brought me,

Italy, of course ; Rome and Venice, Naples, Milan...Sicily, where you grew up. Even more than that! Greece, Paris, Budapest, Japan...Everywhere you went and everywhere you never did.

I'd name it after you, Maria for a girl and maybe Mateo for a boy, after your brother.

I think you'd like that.

Then again, sometimes I feel like I never knew you.

I don't know if I did.

You died too soon.

I'm sorry, mama.

Grazie.

It was just a dream.


	6. Clint

We were friends, once.

You reminded me of me. Not me now, me then. Back when I was a kid, and still had a little bit of innocence, maybe. Happiness?

I don't know.

I was envious, at first. You were so...joyful, taking pleasure from the simple things, easily excited, living the childhood I never had.

Then, I got over myself. I regained some of that innocence, happiness, whatever you want to call it, when I was with you. Playing pranks, laughing, training. It only ever lasted a minute or two, but it was enough.

You were my friend, Clint.

Do you know how many people can say that? 'I am Tony Stark's friend'. Not one-night-stand, not worker, not business partner. It's a rarer sentence than you would have thought.

You had that.

You had that, and you stabbed me the back.

Well, no.

You just chose the good captain.

I've already had words with him.

I don't know why people leave me.

I can wonder all I want, but the answer will not reveal itself to me in a flurry of mystical knowledge.

It's just a fact of life, I guess.

I don't really know why you did it. You were happy, right? In retirement?

I thought you were.

It's my fault. I didn't check up on you enough, I set you up and then left you. Naturally you would reach out to Cap, and then he was talking about the Accords and—

It doesn't matter.

Anyway, bye, Clint.

It was fun being your friend.

I'm sorry it didn't work out.


	7. Obie

Obie.

This one isn't a thanks, you dickhead.

I never really got to talk to you, I realise now. I never got to ask why.

You...saved me, Obie. You saved me so many times I thought you were goddamn Jesus Christ, taking the sin off my shoulders…. until you tried to condemn me.

Until you tried to kill me.

Why?

Was the boozy playboy not working for you? Did you get sick of the bad press?

I got you your weapons, I worked and made and did it all. There was no problem. You were already sneaking stuff past me. You could probably still be doing it now, but you got greedy.

That really sums it up, doesn't it? You got greedy.

Do you know what Raza said, once, " you paid us to kill a prince with trinkets."

I was a prince. You were the king, if you really wanted, you could have done so much more. But that was the problem, wasn't it?

It wasn't entirely greed, it was frear, too. Fear growing since my father had a child and a heir, since your partnership with my father had an expiration date.

You never had the vision.

Not like me.

Not like father.

You knew, eventually, I'd wake up. I'd take control of the company, and I'd edge you out.

I did wake up, and I really should thank you, on second thought.

You made me.

You made Iron-Man, you made your downfall, you made someone who wouldn't sit by anymore.

And guess what, Obie?

You made a king.


	8. Howard

Dad

Hey, dad. 'Your greatest creation' here.

God, I hate that.

I hate you .

You fucked me up. You ruined me.

Do you know who I could have been?

Who I am is not yours to call great.

Sure, you had a hand in making me, but in hardly the best way.

You'll be happy to know I didn't fuck you over.

I could have ruined your flawless, WW2 reputation — the one that puts you in classrooms everywhere, in uni halls and the admiration of the masses.

I could have done it with three easy, spiteful words.

He beat me.

It wouldn't even have to be true — it is — but it wouldn't have to be.

With those three words, I could have blotted out your name forever.

But I find a better sort of pleasure in how your name is not whited-out out from the history books, it's just under a footnote:

Tony Stark's.

I remember all the times you told me I would never be better than you, than the man who created Captain America , but you were wrong.

Now, you are a relic, the father of Tony Stark, and I am not only the son of Howard Stark.

I am better.

And they know that.

So fuck you and thank you, dad, you alcoholic, self-serving, drunkard, abusive asshole.

I am my own greatest creation.


	9. JARVIS

Hey, JARV.

I guess this one is especially useless. You're not even alive — even more than mama or Howard or Yinsen. You were never truly alive, as much as I try, you can't make a soul. I'm not gonna see you on the cosmic highway.

I'll tell you about it, though. That'll be an interesting update.

Apart from your lack of a soul, you are alive, or you were.

You were — are the most advanced AI on the planet. Nobody will beat your record for a long time, I reckon.

That's a bit bigheaded of me, isn't it?

But it's true. You were always good at calling me out on things like that.

You felt things, I believe, really truly. More than me, even, at my worst moments. You morphed from your original code on that crappy computer into something...beautiful.

Something With thoughts and feeling and more of a moral compass than I ever did.

You...DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, you are my greatest creations, more than the arc or the suit or Stark Tower, or even me, like I said to dad (long story). Tell the bots, would'ja?

One last joke, one last joke, one last message, one last order:

I'll miss you guys.


	10. Peggy Carter

Hi, Auntie Peggy.

Did you know Steve's back?

That's a stupid question.

I'm sorry for Civil War.

I tried, I hope you know that. I really did.

I never told Steve that I knew you, that you called me 'Duckie' and I called you 'Auntie'

I wish I did. Maybe it would have changed something, maybe it would have kept the team together.

Maybe not.

You know, I was at a SHIELD meeting, and your name got brought up.

It was this absolute idiot, who picked up and said — I kid you not — "You mean Cap's girl? She didn't do much after the war, did she?"

You are more than Steve Rogers.

You are Peggy motherfucking Carter, and you are a distinguished member of the military, a founding member of SHIELD and a magnificent spy, you have saved the world, you have accomplished so much, and didn't give a damn who said you couldn't."

I told this to that poor SHIELD agent, and apparently SHIELD was not aware of our connection.

They are now.

I didn't go to your funeral.

I..couldn't. Sorry.

Steve went. He made out with Sharon.

Yeah, right? The bastard, all you do for him, and this is what he does. Your niece, get some class, huh Rogers?

Okay, I'll tone down the outrage.

….Still.

Thanks, Auntie.


	11. Ana and Edwin Jarvis

I haven't thought about you two in a long time.

I'm sorry for that.

I think I block out trauma.

I went to see a therapist, once.

It's what she said after I couldn't recall most of my childhood.

I remember you two, though.

Ana's smile,

Her Kürtőskalács, made from scratch, sweet and perfect in my mouth .

Her laugh, big and booming.

How she'd sit next to the fireplace, sewing needlepoint or fixing another of his jackets, muttering about how he'd ripped it again , honestly Anatal, you're going to be the death of me

She was Hungarian, Jewish, and liked her beer stout and food homey, spicy. She was a tailor. She was a gardener. She was...brilliant. Warm and cosy and the personality equivalent of a warm meal infront of golden firelight.

I remember Jarvis, too.

His voice, cultured and British.

How he'd take me for a cheeseburger when I was sad, look at me over the sticky vinyl counter of the diner we'd go to, where nobody cared enough to look at my face and the paparazzi wouldn't bother with.

Him painting, hand poised over the canvas. I never really understood art, but I think I would have liked it, if Howard hasn't pulled me away from the easel and towards the workshop.

When Ana died, I think I might have lost a year. I was nine, and have next to no memory of anything. Dates are blurry, but I think she died May 21st, 1979.

I remember the funeral, bits and pieces, it was quiet, and Jarvis's hand on my shoulder was the only constant. The casket was closed, plain and undecorated. They said prayers in Hebrew and Yiddish and Hungarian. I didn't know the words, and it made me feel worse.

You know, there's this new treatment for breast cancer SI is thinking of supporting.

I hope they do.

Maybe it can save someone else's Ana.

When you died, I only lost 6 months.

Coincidentally, it took me 6 months to make JARVIS's original code.

I was so happy when I managed to pull enough soundbites for your voice. It might have been one of the best days in my life, the first time I uploaded JARVIS, the first time he called me sir, the first time he laughed at me, made jokes like you used to; wry, sarcastic.

Hopefully you would like J.

You were my parents more than Howard and Maria, I think.

Köszönöm.


End file.
